Home is where half the heart is
by louella
Summary: Based on a sentence in the Series 3 press-pack - don't read if you're not spoiled. Alex is recovered from her coma and still trying to find her way home. But what is Gene's role in her 80s existence? Very Gene/Alex.
1. Chapter 1

**Please note that this story takes place in 1983, and is based on a couple of snippets taken from the Series 3 press pack. If you haven't read that then this probably won't make much sense and might spoil your enjoyment of Series 3 when it airs. Also, once Series 3 is out, this fic is likely to look somewhat out of date.**

**Chapter 1**

Alex Drake eased herself out of bed, careful not to disturb the figure sleeping alongside her. Sunlight had begun to filter through the blinds, just enough so that she could make out his features, and she bit her lip as she stared down at him. What had she done? Shaking her head, she knew she needed to get away for a moment, escape from his overwhelming presence, but she just couldn't walk out through the door. Oh God, what the hell had she done?

Pulling in a breath, she quietly turned the door handle and padded into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water and sipped slowly, thinking back to the night before. She couldn't, in all honesty, pretend that she hadn't seen it coming. Ever since she'd been back on duty he'd been there, in her space, in her head. It wasn't easy to put your finger on it but his manner around her had been different, more intense somehow, almost as though he was trying to consume her by the force of his personality alone.

For weeks she'd been on edge. Keats' allegation was barely credible – how could she ever believe that Gene could be Sam's killer? – but she was running out of options and Keats had told her that unveiling Gene as a murderer would secure her passage back to 2008 and Molly. But every time she considered Keats' words, every time she thought about investigating his allegation, she felt a pull in her stomach telling her she was doing the wrong thing.

The problem was, Gene was the only person in this world she felt connected to. Properly, genuinely connected. He was the rock around which she anchored herself. So different to her in so many ways, their views almost never aligned, yet in temperament they were more similar than she cared to admit. And then there was the attraction, the physical desire she felt when she looked at him, which had always been there but which had grown stronger and more insistent since she'd recovered from her coma.

Last night had begun like so many since she'd arrived in the 80s, with a drink in Luigi's with the team. This time, though, Gene had asked her to share a meal, and they'd moved to a corner table and put in their orders for bolognaise and carbonara. He'd taken a seat alongside her on the bench and although he wasn't touching her she could sense every movement of his body, feel the heat of his gaze. This time had been different.

Alex smiled and put her hand to her lips. She remembered how she'd barely managed to finish her meal, her stomach turning summersaults, her awareness of Gene so strong she'd struggled with every mouthful. Gene, too, had pushed his plate away half-eaten, before turning to her and suggesting a nightcap.

She'd never really stood a chance. He'd followed her up to the flat and poured her a whiskey, bringing it to her, standing way too close. His lips had been on hers before she'd even taken a sip.

In her kitchen, Alex closed her eyes and leaned against the worktop. Rubbed a hand across her face. This should never have happened. This was exactly what she was trying to avoid. All she needed to focus on was Molly and getting back to 2008. Keats had opened the door, and all she had to do was walk through it. So why, for heaven's sake, had she allowed herself the complication of Gene Hunt?

She just hadn't expected it to be so good. Well, okay. She'd always thought it would be good. But last night… Bloody hell, she hadn't been prepared for that. Lying in his arms in the aftermath, her heart racing and her body weak, she'd felt, for the first time since arriving in this world, at peace. Like she'd arrived where she was meant to be. And when he looked down at her she could see the emotion darken his eyes and she'd welcomed it, wanted it. Wanted to show him she felt the same way.

"No, no, no," she muttered to herself. She couldn't be with Gene. Needed to get back to Molly. Needed to learn the truth about Sam. So last night could never be repeated. She would walk away, but it would kill her.

~ o ~

They made it through the working day without discussing the previous evening, and although once or twice she'd felt his eyes upon her when he was supposed to be working, he was always staring at files when she looked up. Her stomach was jittery when the usual dispersal began at five-thirty. Fiddling around with things on her desk, she couldn't concentrate on the statements she was reading. Took a deep breath as he stopped at her desk on the way out.

"Coming for a quick drink?" It sounded innocuous enough but she was sure she could read a completely different question in his eyes. Shrugging slightly, she gave a short nod.

"Just finishing up. See you over there."

He nodded back and tapped a hand on her desk before following Chris and Ray through the double doors. Swallowing her anxiety she took her time gathering her possessions before flicking out the desk lamp and making her way across to Luigi's.

Gene was sitting with the team, at the corner of a long table, and she slipped into the chair next to him, pouring herself a glass of white. She guessed that none of the team would recognise the shift in dynamic between her and Gene but, to her, it screamed out loud. Her whole body was attuned to his, every sweep of his hands or shift in his pose drawing a response. It wasn't long before she felt the need to escape and she scampered to the bar to collect another bottle.

She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised when he joined her shortly afterwards. Angling his body slightly, shielding her from the rest of the team, he laid his hand on the bar and touched his finger lightly against hers. The tiniest movement but she felt herself shiver anyway. He spoke so quietly she had to lean closer to hear him.

"So, um. You hungry?"

His voice sent a rumble of desire straight through her. God, this was going to hurt. But she'd made her decision, and it wasn't him.

"Sorry, Guv. Headache."

She felt him still for a moment before drawing away, physically and emotionally. He coughed, swallowed. "Right you are."

Nodding unhappily, she took the bottle that Luigi had brought over and slid off her stool. "Night, Guv," she said, before beating a retreat to the safety of her flat.

~ o ~

Molly. Molly. Mollymollymolly. She had to focus on that, on her daughter, on her escape from the 80s, on getting home. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but Molly, stopping Molly from having to live the same motherless life that she'd led herself.

1983 was not real. Gene Hunt was not real. Molly needed her and nothing else mattered.

Nothing else mattered.

Alex turned looked down at her desk, staring with unseeing eyes at the paperwork in front of her.

If nothing else mattered, why did she feel so hollow? It had been a week since she'd spent the night with Gene. It felt like a month. A cool reserve had grown between them in the office and in the evenings, at Luigi's, they interacted with the team but not with each other. Her body ached with need for him and it was getting harder and harder to maintain her resolve.

He killed Sam. The words kept going around and around in her head, Keats' deadpan delivery masking the shocking implication. It didn't seem possible. Yet Sam's body was never found. Who knew how he died? But this was _Gene_ she was thinking about. Gene Hunt, her protector and saviour. Her thoughts skidded this way and that, until she no longer knew what to believe.

Keats' words played through her mind again and again. Gene was the answer. Uncover Gene's role in Sam's death. Understand Gene, understand how to get home.

Enough. She pushed back her chair and walked across the squad room to Keats' office. His door was open and she peered inside; he was reviewing case files in his usual methodical manner and smiled when he saw her, motioning for her to come in.

She took a seat opposite him, her spine straight and her gaze clear. "I don't know how you think the Guv – the other Guv – I don't know how you think he could be involved in DI Tyler's death."

Keats looked across at her, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "Well, now, let's see," he said. "Tell me why exactly have you reached that view?"

"Okay." Alex let out a breath. "The Guv was nowhere near the location of Sam's death. He was at a training course all day in the use of firearms. There were dozens of witnesses. Most of them police officers." This was all true. When Alex had finally accepted that Keats might be trying to lead her homeward, she'd steeled herself to review the facts around Sam's death. To her relief, it hadn't taken long to find that there was no way Gene could have been near the canal where Sam's car was found. Yet she couldn't rid herself of the idea that Keats was trying to tell her something.

Keats nodded slowly. "You're right, of course," he said. "The problem is, I think you're looking in the wrong place."

"What do you mean?" Alex was struggling to rein in her temper. She was sacrificing everything for this. Why couldn't he just give her a straight answer?

"Well, perhaps not so much the wrong place. More the wrong time."

She stared at him for a moment, then blinked. "What –"

"Must be going, Alex. Always good to catch up." Cutting her off, Keats gathered some papers on his desk and rose from his chair, gesturing for Alex to lead him out.

"But – what –"

"Talk soon." And he was off.

Alex walked slowly back to her desk, her mind buzzing. Wrong time. What on earth was he getting at?

Taking her seat, Alex risked a glance towards Gene, who was sitting back with his legs crossed on his desk, his eyes on the ceiling, the phone at his ear. She bit her lip, filled with a sudden longing that took her breath away.

Wrong time. If not 1981, then… Could Keats somehow be referring to Sam Tyler's death in 2006? Alex had long since given up on figuring out what Keats meant for her journey home, whether he was another figment from her subconscious prompting her to remember things she already knew or whether he was something else altogether. Right now, though, he was the only lead she had, and she couldn't let it go.

But Sam's real death, his 2006 death, was a suicide. There was absolutely no question about that. And Gene – well, Gene didn't exist in the modern world. He couldn't possibly be involved in Sam's suicide.

Except, if it weren't for Gene and the team he'd created in 1973, Sam would not have been so desperate to return. If Gene and Annie hadn't exerted such a tremendous pull, there would have been no 2006 suicide. Was this the key? Was this what Keats was trying to tell her?

Alex's head hurt trying to make sense of it all. She glanced at her watch as Gene strode out of his office – she hadn't realised it had got so late. Gene was shrugging into his coat and she watched as he made a general announcement about quitting for the day. He didn't catch her eye before he vanished through the doors.

She didn't hesitate for long. Pushing back her chair she cast around for her bag and jacket and hurried out to follow him. She was relieved when she spotted him disappearing down the stairs to Luigi's and she slowed her pace, catching her breath before she crossed the road and followed him into the restaurant.

He was sitting on a stool, hunched over, his elbows resting on the bar, smoke filtering upwards from an ashtray at his elbow. She walked quietly over, sliding onto the stool next to him, helping herself to a glass of wine from his bottle.

He sent her a quick look from the corner of his eye before picking up his cigarette and taking a draw. "Hope you're going to replace that," he said, nodding at her wineglass.

"Don't worry. I'll buy the next bottle." She swallowed down the contents of her glass and refilled it, topping up his at the same time.

Gene nodded at Luigi, signalling for a new bottle. "Put it on the Segnorina's tab," he said, then turned to Alex, eyebrows raised. "Bad day?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary." She could smell him, the heady scent of smoke and wine and man, and she lifted her glass to her lips again to stop herself saying something she'd regret.

He looked at her for a moment, then drained his own glass. "Can't let you make a drunken fool of yourself alone."

They sat for a moment, nursing their glasses, and Alex finally began to relax as the warmth from the alcohol flowed through her. She'd missed this. Missed this closeness, this unwinding together at the end of the day. Could they ever get it back? A small part of her brain nagged at her, tried to remind her about Molly, about Sam, but she closed her ears to it and took another gulp of wine.

It wasn't long before the rest of the team drifted in, giving Alex and Gene something to focus on and they assessed Ray's chances of pulling the pretty blonde clerk from the records room and debated the wisdom of Chris's highlights. For a few minutes Alex allowed herself to forget about Keats and the puzzle he'd posed, focusing instead on Gene and the aching need within her.

As the night wore on, she found herself sitting closer to him, her hand occasionally resting on his sleeve, her glance dropping down to his lips. At first he sat stiffly, maintaining a distance from her, but gradually he seemed to thaw, occasionally leaning in to mutter something in her ear, shifting around on the stool so that his knee touched hers.

They were still sitting together several hours and several bottles later, and as Alex turned her head she saw that they were almost the only customers still in the place. "Oops," she smiled, blinking as she tried to focus on Gene's face. "Luigi'll be kicking us out any minute."

He stared at her before knocking back the last of his wine and easing himself to his feet. "Better call it a night then."

She nodded slowly and slid off her stool. "Yeah. Better had."

They stood together for a moment, unmoving, until Gene took a breath and shook his head. Catching her eye again, he said, "See you up?"

A pause. "Kay." She turned, only slightly wobbly, and made for the stairs, confident that he'd follow her.

They'd barely made it into her sitting room before he reached for her, pulling her into his arms and dropping an urgent kiss on her upturned mouth. "I'm not messing about, Alex," he muttered between snatched kisses, his hands busy with hers removing layers from bodies.

"No. Me neither. Messing," she replied, distracted by the feel of his teeth against her throat. She pulled at his tie, pushed buttons through holes, hopping and staggering with him towards the bedroom where they collapsed onto the bed together.

"I mean it, Alex." He lowered his head, kissing his way down to her breast and swirling the peak with his tongue. "Don't mess me around."

Her eyes slid closed as he took her other nipple between finger and thumb, pinching gently, pulling it taut. A dart of pleasure flew through her body, straight to her core, and she moaned out loud, "Gene, God Gene, never thought, please."

His hands slid over her skin, across her ribcage, down her thighs, his fingers seeking out her hot centre. "Gene," she gasped, parting her knees, allowing him easier access. "Want. More." He slid a finger inside her, easing it back and forth, smiling against her thigh as she raised her hips in time with his movements.

"Patience," he murmured, turning his head to place a kiss against her leg, moving lower, sucking gently at the sensitive flesh, until he finally reached the tight bundle of nerves. Raising his head for a moment and withdrawing his hand, he blew gently across her, smiling as she cried out in frustration.

She caught hold of his head, threading her fingers through his hair and urging him downward. This time he complied, lowering his lips and tracing her folds with his tongue, sweeping along and back again, circling the nub before trailing again, holding her hips steady as he worked. Her body was wracked with lust, waves of pleasure washing outwards from her middle to the tips of her fingers and toes. "Please," she cried, "now. You. Need you."

He continued sucking and licking her, bringing her closer and closer to the brink, stopping just short of her final release, leaving her sobbing and begging in his arms. He shushed her with a kiss and positioned himself above her, hissing as she took hold of him, groaning as she stroked solid length. She returned his caresses until he too was pleading. She loved this, loved the journey, knowing that she could make him weak like this, that she could bring this powerful man to a state of longing for her that drove everything else from his mind.

"Alex," he muttered, gently batting her hand away and settling himself at her entrance.

"Yes." She crooked a leg around his, tilting her hips, and he plunged into her, burying himself deep, for a moment unable to move. She draped her arm around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss, and he slid his tongue into her mouth, tasting her sweetness.

She pushed against the mattress with her foot, arching her body up to his, begging him to fill her. Blind now to everything but the feel of him moving within her, she clutched at his shoulders, mewls and sighs escaping her as he thrust again and again.

It was almost more than she could bear and the felt the heaviness gathering between her legs, the familiar heat that told her she was close. Angling herself against him she increased the pressure at her core, the added friction sending her spiralling into oblivion, a breathtaking, dizzying fall. As she relaxed against the sheets she felt him collapse on top of her, grunting her name against her shoulder, gathering her close.

Her body was weak, pleasure leaving her melting against him, and she smiled as she felt him brush a curl behind her ear. "Night, Madam Bolls," he murmured, dropping a kiss against her temple, then closing his eyes and relaxing into sleep.

~ o ~

She woke in a rush, head spinning, a sickly sensation in her stomach. It wasn't a hangover, she knew well enough what they felt like, and this was different, this was something else entirely.

She looked across at her alarm clock. Six-fifteen. With some trepidation she rolled onto her side, staring at Gene's peaceful form. Shit.

Why had she done it? It didn't matter how drawn she was to him, how attractive he was, how much she craved his company and his affection. It didn't matter a damn that he was easily the most important part of her life in the eighties. Nothing mattered but Molly and she had allowed herself to be distracted by her own desires and wants. The guilt she'd carried with her ever since Molly had been born, the guilt she felt that she'd never be as good a mother as she wanted to be, returned with interest. She couldn't have Gene, couldn't allow Gene to get in the way of her journey home. Slipping carefully from the bed, she headed for the bathroom, hoping a scalding hot shower would help clear her head.

When she returned to the bedroom, one towel wrapped around her body and other around her head, Gene was sitting up against the headboard, sheet bunched around his waist, his arms linked comfortably behind his head. His eyes darkened as he saw her, a low growl escaping him as she stood uncertainly in the doorframe.

"You're up early. Was hoping you were making me a cuppa."

"Gene."

"Or a bacon sandwich. Not fussy."

"Gene, listen." She pushed her arms into a robe and belted it firmly around her middle before perching on the side of the bed. He sat up straighter and crossed his arms across his body.

"Go on."

"I'm sorry."

He looked over her shoulder and nodded his head. "You're sorry."

"Yes." She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder but he flinched away, rolling out of bed on the far side from her and casting around for his clothes.

"Don't be like this."

"Don't be like what, Alex?" He belted his trousers and shrugged into his shirt, walking out into the hallway to retrieve socks and boots. "I told you not to mess me about. I told you. What do you call this, Alex?" He pulled on his socks and boots and grabbed for his coat.

She followed him into the hallway, blinking hard, trying not to show how much his anger unsettled her. "Gene, I can explain…"

"You know what, Alex?" He pushed open her front door and stood with his hand on the doorknob. "You don't need to explain. I know exactly what you're up to. But do me a favour next time and buy a vibrator instead." He turned on his heel and the door clicked closed behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Christ but it was difficult. Life went on, of course, with Alex having to work alongside Gene as though nothing had changed between them. Impossible, apparently – even Chris appeared to have noticed the atmosphere between his superiors was somewhat lacking in warmth – but she was doing her best. It would be nice if he would make a similar effort but he barely even looked at her, and when he did have no choice but to address her it was in a vicious, barking tone. He'd dropped the nicknames, too. She was Drake now. It made her insides ache.

She understood that he might be hurting – she was hurting too – but she couldn't afford the distraction of her own emotions, let alone the luxury of worrying about his. Probably no more than a flesh wound to his pride, anyway. He'd come bouncing back soon enough.

So she spent her time trying to figure out how to solve the puzzle of her journey home. After sitting through another painful day with Gene, trying not to care when he strode out of the office at six without looking in her direction, she allowed her gaze to alight on his office. She wandered over and pushed open the door, standing against the frame as she glanced around. Mementos, clutter, certificates, noticeboard… Her attention was caught by the clipping about Sam Tyler's death – his _other_ death – the one in 1981. It sparked an idea. Scribbling a note that she left on Gene's desk, she left the office with a renewed sense of purpose and an optimism she hadn't felt for months.

Next morning, instead of heading over the road for another bruising encounter with Gene, she packed a paperback in her handbag and headed for Euston station. A couple of hours later and she was standing on the platform at Manchester Piccadilly, an A to Z in her hand and a determined expression on her face.

In truth, she hadn't really thought this through. She could remember a few details from Sam's file, was pretty sure she could remember the street he'd grown up in, but a quick check of the index in the map book showed four in the Manchester area with the same name. Still, nothing would be gained by hanging around at the station. Hitching her bag onto her shoulder she headed for the taxi rank, asking the driver to take her to the closest of the four streets.

Getting out of the cab, Alex looked around her and shook her head. This didn't feel right. It was a street of 1930s semis, whereas she'd pictured the Tylers in an older home, a row of Victorian redbrick terraces. She was here now, though, and might as well make the most of it. Glancing down the street she saw a milk float disappearing around a corner into a neighbouring road. Cursing her impractical approach to footwear, she jogged after it, flagging the milkman down and flashing her warrant card.

"I'm looking for the Tyler residence," she said. "Ruth Tyler? You know which house is theirs?"

The milkman looked blank, shaking his head. "No one round here called Tyler, love," he replied.

Thanking him, Alex wandered up to the main road, flicking back through her A to Z. The next street seemed to be located in an estate of modern cul-de-sacs rather than among a grid of older terraces, but the third option seemed more likely so she decided to head for there. She spotted a bus stop further along the main road and after a couple of changes she was within walking distance of her destination.

This area was much more promising, featuring long terraces with well-scrubbed front steps and shops on the corners. She was walking towards the street she thought the Tylers might live on when she spotted a couple of young teenagers sitting on a garden wall, chatting and sharing a bag of chips.

"I'm looking for Ruth and Sam Tyler," she said, flashing them her most charming smile.

The kids stared at each other then back at her, shaking their heads. "What's it worth?" one of them asked.

Retrieving her warrant card, she said, "It's worth me not reporting you for truanting. Spill."

One of the kids hopped off the wall and dashed away, leaving Alex to corner the other. She moved her warrant card a bit closer to his face and raised an eyebrow.

"Number 57," he muttered. "Over there." And he slid from the wall and ran off to join his mate.

Squaring her shoulders, Alex drew in a long breath. She found number 57, a well-maintained house in the middle of the row, and knocked at the door, warrant card in hand. It was opened by an attractive blonde woman in her thirties.

"Ruth Tyler? I'm Detective Inspector Alex Drake and I'd like a quick word, if you don't mind."

"Police?" Ruth looked shaken. "What's happened? Is it Sam?"

"No, nothing like that. Everything's fine. I just need to speak with you for a moment. May I come in?"

Ruth stepped back and showed Alex through to the small but immaculate front room. "Can I get you anything? Cup of tea?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you." Alex took a seat on the sofa and waited until Ruth was settled on the armchair across from her. "I know this is going to sound a little odd, but please bear with me. It's important."

A frown creased Ruth's forehead. "Okay. I'll do my best."

"It's about Sam –"

"I thought you said he was all right!"

"He is all right. He's fine, for now."

"What do you mean, for now?"

"Listen, please, you need to know this. At some point in the future, quite a long way in the future, something will happen to Sam. There's nothing you can do about it, nothing you need to worry about now. But when the thing happens, you need to remember this conversation."

"What? What thing? When? I don't understand."

"I know it's difficult, and I wish I could tell you more. But the thing you have to remember is that it's not Sam's fault and it's not your fault either. It isn't anyone's fault really, but if you feel like you have to blame someone, then that person is a Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt."

There was silence for a moment. "You're saying that you know that at some unspecified point in the future something will happen to Sam, something bad, and it's this Gene Hunt's fault?"

"Yes. Although DCI Hunt isn't a bad man. He's a good man, actually. One of the best. Certainly he's one of the best things that will ever happen to Sam."

Ruth stared at her, a bemused expression on her face. "Listen, love. Are you sure you're a police officer?"

Alex smiled. "I told you it would sound odd. But please, promise me you'll remember this conversation. That's all you have to do. Just promise."

"Well, all right. If it means that much to you."

"Thank you. It means everything." Alex rose to leave, Ruth ahead of her opening the door. As she turned to go, Alex said, "Please don't worry. Sam will live a very happy life, surrounded by people he loves." Ignoring Ruth's sceptical expression, Alex leaned in to give her a quick hug before walking away down the street, leaving Ruth standing in the open door.

On the train heading back to London, Alex stared out of the window at the blur of scenery passing by. She had no idea whether she'd done enough. Keats wasn't exactly clear about her mission, but she'd passed on the message as best she could, told Ruth Tyler that Gene would eventually, unwittingly, be responsible for the death of her son.

She was no closer to knowing the truth when the train pulled into Euston. If she had done enough, of course, then surely that meant she was nearly home. She laughed at herself, but she it was almost as though she was waiting for some flash of blinding light or crash of pain to launch her back to the modern world. A sense of anxiety wormed through her. She couldn't leave yet; she still had unfinished business. Beginning to worry about whether she was running out of time, she raced back across town to the station.

It was past nine when she reached Fenchurch East and she was hurrying up the stairs as she bumped into Keats coming down. He took a hold of her elbow to stop her from falling. "Good day, Alex?"

"I, um, I think so, Guv."

He released her and stared intently at her face. "Done what you needed to do?"

"Yes. Yes, I think I have."

He nodded and a smile worked its way across his features. "Good. That's good, Alex. Job done. Home time."

"I hope so," she said, but he was already hurrying off down the steps. He paused at the bottom and looked back up. "Just remember, though, Alex. About time. It's not the linear concept you think it is. It bends and stretches. Sometimes it even overlaps." And with that he was away.

Shaking her head slowly, Alex continued on to the squad room. Given the time she wasn't surprised to find the place empty, although she couldn't deny a dip of disappointment.

She took a seat and ran her hands along her desk, turned her nameplate towards her. It all felt so familiar. She opened a drawer and pulled out a notepad, flipped off the lid of a pen and bent over to write. She done it once already, written him a goodbye note, but things were different now. She wanted to tell him everything but she'd tried that once, too, and it hadn't gone so well. Where to begin?

Chewing the end of her pen, she started four separate letters before giving up. She couldn't find the words. Needed to tell him in person. She pulled on her jacket and left the squad room, turning off the light behind her.

The sense of urgency within her was growing. She hurried across the road and down into Luigi's, scanning the customers but unable to see him. She tapped Ray on the shoulder and asked if he'd seen the Guv, but Ray just shrugged and said that he'd left half an hour ago.

"Luigi," she called. "Borrow your phone?"

The Italian brought it over, muttering under his breath about how she had her own upstairs, but she just made a face and told him it was urgent. She dialled Gene's number, listening to the phone ringing out in his empty house. Bugger. Where on earth was he?

She decided her best option was to go back to his place to wait for him, but she wanted to freshen up a little before going. She rushed up the stairs and turned the corner on the landing, only to pull up short when she saw the object of her search sitting propped against her front door.

"Gene."

"You're back then."

She looked down at herself then back at him. "It would appear so." She couldn't stop a broad grin from spreading across her face. Gene stood, scowling.

"You look very pleased with yourself for someone who's spent the day playing hooky."

"I think I achieved something today, Gene. Something important. I wanted to tell you about it."

"Is that right? Well, there's a coincidence, because I wanted to tell you something too, DI Drake. Perhaps we could talk inside?"

She let them into her flat, throwing her jacket over the sofa before vanishing into the kitchen and flicking on the kettle. "Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?"

Gene called out from the living room. "DI Drake, I am not here on a social call. Get yourself over here and stop talking for five consecutive minutes and listen to what I have to say."

Alex blinked at the anger in his voice. She turned off the kettle and walked through to the sitting area, taking a seat on the sofa. Gene remained standing, staring down at her through narrowed eyes.

"I don't know what little game you're playing, Drake, and I no longer care. You may think you have me wrapped around your little finger, that you can swan off for the day with only a moment's notice, that the normal rules do not apply to you." He began pacing, ran a hand through his hair. "Well, you're wrong. You're wrong on all counts."

"Gene, stop, please." Alex looked up as he paced back and forth in front of her. All her happiness and relief at seeing him had evaporated in a cloud of cold fear. She tried to catch hold of his sleeve but he shook her off.

"I am your superior officer and you will listen to what I have got to say. First, you will not vanish without notice when you should be working in CID with me."

"But I –"

"_Enough_, Alex. If you take an unauthorised absence again, I will instigate disciplinary proceedings against you."

"But –"

"_Will you be quiet!_ Second, whatever happened between us –" he waved a hand around the flat – "was clearly a mistake. Not one I care to repeat. So you will understand why I wish to keep our future interaction at a purely professional level."

"Gene…" She shifted around on the sofa, watching him as he walked across to the window. He stood facing out, his hands resting on the sill.

"Third, I would like you to consider putting in for a transfer. Best for all concerned."

Alex stared at Gene's back, biting her lip. "A transfer?" she said in a small voice.

"Yes." He turned around, pulling on his driving gloves. "I think we're done here, Detective. I trust you'll be in your seat bright and early in the morning."

"No, Gene, don't, please." She slid off the sofa, putting a hand on his arm, trying to stop him from leaving. "You don't understand."

"I've never pretended to understand you, Drake." His stared along his nose at her, his back straight, but he had at least stopped moving towards the door.

"Listen," she said urgently. "I'm sorry, really sorry, about everything. I can't explain it but you have to believe that I never wanted to hurt you."

"You didn't."

"But there was something I had to do. Something important. And I did it, today."

"Well, congratulations, Little Miss Overachiever."

She moved a hand to his lapel. "Listen, please." She could sense his warmth beneath her fingers, wanted nothing more than to rest her head against his chest and feel his arms wrap around her. "I've been distracted. This thing I had to do, it was important to me. Critical. I couldn't think about anything else, and I took it out on you."

Gene stood still for a moment, looking at a space over her shoulder. "I'm not interested in your excuses, Alex. I'm not interested in you, full stop."

"I don't believe that." She inched closer, raised her hand to his cheek. She could see him swallow.

"Why are you doing this, Alex?" He took hold of her wrist, gently pulling her hand away from his face. "I've told you what I want. I don't want you." He didn't let go of her hand.

"But I want you, Gene. I think I've always wanted you."

"You want a bit of rough to get your kicks with at night then throw out in the morning. That's not for me."

"No, that's not right. I told you. I was distracted, confused." She curled her hand around his neck, tilting her head back to look at him. "It was terrible timing, that's all."

Gene's eyes burned down at her. "What do you want, Alex? What do you want from me?"

"Everything. I want everything from you, Gene." She raised onto her tiptoes and brushed the gentlest kiss across his lips. "I love you."

He pulled back from her. "You love me? You call this love? You keep me in the dark, treat me like I'm the village idiot, blow hot and cold so that I don't know whether we're in the arctic or the bloody Sahara. And now, you sidle up and talk of love? I don't think you know what the word means."

"No, Gene, I do." Her voice cracked as she stared at him, scared that she'd left it too late. "I've never known anyone like you. You make me feel alive, in a way I didn't believe was possible. I want to be with you, all the time, and I feel like there's something missing when you're not there." A wry smile broke out on her face. "And, of course, I just can't keep my hands off you."

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, clenching his hand at his side. He shook his head and Alex caught her breath. "You've got to believe me. Please, Gene. It doesn't matter if you don't feel the same, you just need to know that I love you."

Alex could make out the turmoil in his eyes as he stared down at her. "You think I don't feel the same? That's what you think this is about? Jesus Alex, for a psychologist you really don't understand people, do you?"

He wiped a hand over his face, his features pulled into the familiar pout. Sighing, he stepped away from her and moved once again to the window, staring across at the station. "It's always been you, Alex," he said, so quiet she had to strain to hear. "You've had me in your clutches so long now I can't remember what it's like to be to be free. I don't have to like it, but there it is. So no more games, Alex. If I find that you're playing with me…"

Alex didn't need to hear any more. She walked slowly across to him, slipping her arms around his waist and pressing her head against his shoulder blade. She could feel him tense. "Not playing," she murmured. "Deadly serious."

He turned in her arms, staring down at her with blazing eyes, lowering his head to hers, capturing her lips in a kiss that sent her soaring.

As they came up for air she couldn't stop herself smiling, a grin on her face that lit up the whole flat. "Come," she smiled, leading him to her bedroom.

He undressed her carefully, silently, watching as he removed each item until she was naked beneath his gaze. "You are so beautiful, Alex," he whispered, touching his lips to her shoulder, smiling as she gasped under his caress. Kissing his way down her breast, he reached the peak and pulled it into his mouth, sucking gently, grazing the tip against his teeth.

Alex wrapped an arm around his shoulder, needing his support, and he bent to catch her under her knees, lifting her slowly to the bed. He shucked off his shirt and trousers, stripping naked before sliding alongside her and pulling her into his arms.

Wriggling above him, Alex swept her hand across his chest, swiping her thumb across his nipple, dropping kisses along his belly. Breathing in, she was surrounded by the heady scent of him and she moved lower, taking his hard length into her mouth.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the taste of him, the grunts of pleasure she was drawing from him. Holding him firmly at the base, she sucked the tip, circling her tongue around him, teasing the sensitive spot where head met shaft. "So good," he groaned, flexing his hips as she worked above him. "More." She slipped one hand between his legs, cupping his balls, stroking as she sucked and licked, feeling the heat grow between her own legs with every move she made.

Gene's fingers curled into her hair, tugging her back up his body, and she stared into his eyes, falling into their glinting depths. She felt his hand smooth along her back, over her bottom, slipping between her legs. "Oh God," she moaned, arching her back as he slid two fingers inside her. "Gene, yes."

His hands were busy, fingers tracing patterns across her swollen flesh, dipping in and out, leaving her blazing with need. She lowered herself onto him, crying out as he stretched her, filling her, completing her. Moving slowly above him, she ran her hands over her breasts, pinching at her nipples, mindless and wanton.

"Alex," Gene called, pulling her down to him, sliding his tongue into her mouth, wrapping his arm around her body, his hand in her hair. He thrust his hips against hers, groaning at her slickness, murmuring words of need and desire. She rocked above him, her pace increasing, body tensing as the pleasure built at her core.

"Now, Gene," she cried, pushing hard against him as she crashed over the edge, a wave of pleasure spreading across her. Catching her breath she lay down on top of him, his length still solid within her, and he rolled her onto her back, thrusting deep, groaning her name as he exploded into her.

For a moment he just held her, dragging air into his lungs as he dropped kiss after kiss on the top of her shoulder. She was still floating as he smiled, dragging her closer and nestling her into his arms.

"I'm very glad that I met you, DCI Hunt," she said softly. "Whatever else happens, I want you to remember that. Remember that I love you."

He pressed a kiss against the top of her head before saying with a smile, "Give over, you dozy tart, and shut up so I can get some kip."

Her eyes slid closed and her final thought before slipping into sleep was relief that she'd found her peace with Gene.

~ o ~

Alex Drake sat on the bench in the park, watching as Molly and Evan tried to fly a kite in the blustery autumnal sky. She was getting her strength back gradually but chasing across the common was still some way beyond her. The sight of Molly and Evan together, though, brought a genuine smile to her face, Molly's excited shrieks and Evan's yells of encouragement familiar sounds she hadn't realised she'd missed.

She closed her eyes for a moment, the watery sunlight playing across her face, and allowed herself the luxury of remembering. She'd been out of her coma for two months now but her recollection of life in the eighties was still vivid. One memory in particular. When she lay in bed at night, the house peaceful, her daughter safely asleep on the other side of the wall, her head would be filled with the image of him, the way his skin felt beneath her fingers, the sound of her name on his lips. More than anything she wished she'd had more time with him but at least they'd had that final night, when she'd told him she loved him and she'd known he'd believed her.

In truth, she still couldn't believe she'd created such a detailed, all-consuming world inside her own head. It was insane to miss someone who had never existed, to feel such longing for a figment of her own imagination, but the ache inside her was real and she nursed it willingly, a connection to her past and to the man who had meant so much.

The sound of Molly shouting for her mum dragged her back to the present, to the life she'd fought so hard to return to. Smiling over at her daughter, she opened her arms and Molly ran into them, a solid bundle of energy and warmth, and Alex squeezed tight. No matter the sacrifice, it had been worth it a thousand times over. She'd make the same decision every time.

It was too soon for Alex to return to work but her brain was recovering at a faster rate than her body and she soon began to bore of lounging around the house. One afternoon, while Molly was at school and Evan at work, she found herself thinking back to Jim Keats and his role in her return. His final words to her played back in her head. _Time isn't linear. Sometimes it even overlaps._

She drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair, trying to catch hold of the thought that was forming somewhere in her brain. The more she chased it the more elusive it became. Sighing, she wondered whether a change of scene might help and she pulled on her coat and made the short trip to her local library.

Looking around, she wasn't sure where to begin, but something drew her towards the newspaper table and she sat down to flick through the day's paper. Usual stuff, politics, celebrities, blah blah blah. She was reaching out to put it away when she caught sight of the archive files on the bottom shelf. She rifled through them and pulled the copy from the day she was shot. The front cover featured a picture of herself under the headline "Cop critical after hostage shooting". She didn't feel the need to read that story.

Turning the pages, nothing in the news and lifestyle sections caught her eye. She'd almost reached the sport when she saw it.

A small column in dense font, it was headlined, "Revolutionary female officer dies at 57". Alex looked away for a moment, unable to breathe. She smoothed the newsprint out with the palm of her hand before looking again.

A small photo was printed under the headline, of an attractive older woman with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. She was smiling. Alex's hand trembled. She read, _"The pioneering female police officer, Detective Chief Inspector Alexandra Hunt, died last night at her home in north London. As the first female officer to reach DCI level, she spoke often of her hope that other women would follow her example and progress higher through the ranks. Awarded the highest police honour in 1995 for her role in averting a hostage crisis, DCI Hunt was held in high regard by her colleagues throughout her career."_

Alex sat back in her chair, tears clouding her eyes. It was a moment before she could finish the short article. _"She married her colleague, retired Spt Gene Hunt, in 1984, their marriage described by friends as occasionally stormy but always close. Spt Hunt died earlier this year and friends of the couple said she seemed to fade after his death, her own ending peaceful when it came."_

Alex's throat tightened and her head whirled. So this was what Keats meant about time overlapping. A version of herself had stayed with Gene that night, had woken up with him the next morning and lived a long and happy life with him. She and Gene had stuck together all those years. It was a happy thought, yet it didn't stop her crying.

She brushed impatiently at the tears. It was absurd to feel jealous of herself, but a small part of her felt cheated out of that other life, the one she'd so nearly led. She was still staring at the newspaper when there was a beep from her bag. She delved for her phone and found a message from Molly, a picture of her smiling next to a friend at school and the line "so glad you're back". Alex nodded, staring at the picture. She'd never forget Gene, would always hold a place in her heart for him, but despite all that, she was glad to be back too.

**The end**

**Thank you for reviewing and favouriting, it means a lot to have your feedback. I hope you like this ending – it's not hearts and flowers for Alex but I hope it's stayed faithful to the show.**

**Thanks again – Louella x**


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